Malfoy and Me
by Secret Snoopy
Summary: Ron secretly writes a story about Draco. Draco secretly reads it. And now he wants revenge. As usual, slash prevails.
1. An Itch to Scratch

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No, really?

Author's Note: Be aware of spiders, the apocalypse, and POV changes.

* * *

**Malfoy and Me**  
An Itch to Scratch

(Ron's POV)

I had never considered myself to be much of a writer. I liked to dabble into a few ideas every once in a while when the mood would strike. Sometimes those ideas persist to the point whereas if I did not attempt to at least humour it with a little work, it would haunt me. That was where this whole mess started.

After a rather nasty altercation with Malfoy and his dumb muscles (also known as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle), I had a dream, a rather dirty and erotic dream. I wouldn't necessarily classify it as a nightmare, but it was definitely something I wish my subconscious had never concocted. Basically, it involved me, Malfoy, and a measuring tape. I don't want to go any further then that.

Then the idea popped into my head. I tried with all my mental capacity to ignore it. But the harder I resisted, the stronger and more daring those ideas became. It was unwavering in its persistence, my quill yearning for some activity.

No way. No freaking way. Malfoy was my arch nemesis. Those impure thoughts were just a result of my over-active imagination. That was all.

Still though, why did everything always happen to _me_? As if I haven't had enough to think about. What, with The Dark Lord, Quidditch practice and Professor Snape, my mind should havebeen pretty preoccupied. But no, there was Malfoy. There he was again. And again.

Don't worry, it got worse. One day, while eating lunch in The Great Hall, I choked and hacked up something gross onto Hermione's plate. _He_ just happened to be passing by.

"What's that? Giving your Mudblood of a girlfriend a present?" Malfoy sniggered.

Momentarily forgetting my dreams of that particular Slytherin, I turned around to cast him an icy glare, and possibly a nasty retort if I could think of one fast enough. But the ice melted immediately.

He had that trademark smirk on his face. Something south of my border began to tingle.

Case in point; _everything_ bad happens to me.

Suddenly, my dreams became more frequent, vivid, and disturbing. They kept telling me inspiring things, like Malfoy was hot, or that he had a firm body, or that he had a long... er, forehead. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes with my little general standing erect and ready for action.

There was absolutely no way that I could like him. I didn't think he was cute. Not at all. Not with his slicked-back blond hair, or his piercing blue eyes, or the way his lips curled up when he was happy...

Finally, I had had enough. It took a daydream for me to realize that. Yes, a _day_dream, one of all my own doing. It was only in the most boring class in all of Hogwarts (Charms), where you practically had nothing else to do. Malfoy was the blood-lusting vampire, and I was his willing victim, wanting to be at his mercy, for him to sink his teeth into my neck and drink my blood...

_Yech_. Okay, it was time for me to get the monkey off my back, so to speak.

First, I glanced around to check that no one was paying attention to me. Harry was seated beside me, writing his Charms essay (which was due the next class, by the way), while Hermione sat in front, likely done the assignment given out at the beginning of class and reading ahead for the next lesson. Typical.

From my book bag, I pulled out a sharp quill and my notebook. I turned to the next available page, and very neatly printed the title on the first line.

It was surprising how easily the letters just danced off the quill. I hardly had to think, the wording just took itself over. This just proved that I was a great writer, not that I was attracted to Malfoy in anyway.

I was so deeply engrossed in my notebook that I hardly noticed that class was over. Students were standing up to exit the class for dinner, and I had to hastily grab all my things in order to catch up to Harry and Hermione.

* * *

(Draco's POV)

After class was over, I had something to discuss with Professor Flitwick. It was about the essay he assigned that was due next class. I needed more time to finish it. Actually, I guess a better word would be to commence.

But I was confident that he would give me the extension. My father was a very powerful man. It was so tough to be wealthy both financially and socially, not to mention intelligent, handsome, and irresistible. But I tried.

"Professor?" I marched up to his desk as the other students were filing out of the classroom. "May I talk to you about something?"

"Just a moment Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick said to me. "I just have to get something out of the back room, I'll be right back." He disappeared behind a door, leaving me alone in the empty classroom. I drummed my fingers against the table and surveyed the chamber. That was when I noticed a notebook left behind at the back.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I could not help gliding over there to take a peek. Hopefully it was someone's class notes. They would be useful for that essay of mine.

The book was dogged-eared, and the pages looked like they were decaying. I picked it up by the corner with my thumb and index finger. It slipped out of my grasp and dropped back on the table, opening up to a page.

Well, since it was already open, I decided to have a glance. I could barely make out the bad penmanship, but I was sure the title read '_Malfoy and Me_'. And I wasn't being conceited. It really did say that. Must just be some love-struck lady. More text succeeded the title.

As I read further and further, I became more and more disgusted. It was me. It was the writer. It was the writer and I engaging in lewd actions. It was okay to like me (and it's hard not to, if I do say so myself), but this was positively sick. How _dare_ they violate me this way!

"Mr. Malfoy?" a voice sawed through my thoughts, causing me to jump. "Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

I blushed heavily. "Uh... actually," I slipped the notebook into my robes and began backing out of the classroom. "It's really not that important." Before Flitwick could interrogate me, I flew out of the classroom.

Whoever wrote this was dead.

* * *

Author's Notes: I know I was probably really pushing the Teen rating in Ron's POV, but it's all in good fun. The next chapter will come up soon. I would be entirely grateful if you were to review! 


	2. Writer Recognized

Disclaimer: Me no own Harry Potter.

Author's Notes: Thanks for all your kind reviews. It really encouraged me to get off my butt and write more. Sorry I took so long, but I've just been a little busier for some reason. And you might have noticed the rating change. I did it for two reasons; just to be safe (all puns intended), and to allow myself more freedom.

* * *

**Malfoy and Me**  
Writer Recognized

(Ron's POV)

"Harry, you should have started the essay when it was assigned last week," Hermione scolded in her usual motherly way. "This is all your own doing, and I'm not going to bail you out this time."

"Yeah," I agreed half-heartedly.

Harry dipped his quill into the bottle of black ink and glared at me. "And how far are you on _your_ Charms essay?"

"Oh, I'm not doing it," I replied lightly as I gnawed at a leg of lamb.

My two friends stared at me as if I had told them that I toilet-papered the entire school. "You're not writing it?" Hermione repeated in disbelief. "Ron, think about it for a moment. If you don't do this, you'll most likely _fail_ Charms!"

"So?" I shrugged. "So did Fred and George."

"Don't go modelling yourself after them!" Hermione snapped. "That would be the worst thing to do! You have to write your essay Ron! Come on, I'll help you." After a few more words of persuasion, I finally agreed. I went into my bag to fish out my notebook, which had all my class notes. And that dirty little story, but Hermione didn't need to read that.

Sensing it was not there, I began to dig around frantically. "My notebook... it's not here! Where is it?" Panic swept through my body as I realized what had probably happened; I left it at Flitwick's class. No, that couldn't be! Instead of accepting the fact that I had misplaced it, I dumped the contents of my book bag on the table.

"Hey!" Harry wailed, his bottle of ink tipping off its base and staining his papers. It ultimately ruined his essay.

"Ron, stop, stop," commanded Hermione as she sifted through my pile of school items. "What did it look like? What was in it?"

"It was brown, and, uh..." I paused. No, I couldn't tell them. I could never tell them, or anyone. If reincarnation was how our lives worked, I'd be born again as a cockroach or spider for my next life, for all those corrupt thoughts I had about one Draco Malfoy. "It just had the notes I took from my classes."

"Well, it should be empty then," quipped Harry. I didn't find that funny. Neither did Hermione.

Sometimes I wonder whether Harry is really the good person he allows others to believe.

"It's not here," Hermione concluded finally. Seeing me continue to frantically search for it, she suggested, "Come on, you can use my notes instead."

"Yeah, I mean, your notes are just a carbon copy of Hermione's notes," Harry pointed out flatly, dabbing his essay with a tissue. It merely increased the area of destruction. I felt inwardly pleased about that for some reason. "Besides, it was just a notebook."

"_Just_ a notebook!" I screeched. "That notebook had..."

"Had what?" Now Hermione was interested.

A sick, amorous little story about Malfoy and I boinking each other, that's what. What if someone picked it up and read it? I would never live it down.

Luckily, I don't follow my mother's advice and mark all my things with a name (well, who would want everyone to know that second-hand, fading textbook was _mine_?), otherwise whomever found it could blackmail me. What would they take from me? My handmade R-lettered jumper? The only thing I own that's worth anything was Pig, and he was small. I got him for free anyway, so it wouldn't be such a loss.

"What?" Hermione repeated urgently.

"Uh..." I attempted to hide my reddening face. "Nothing."

I had to find that notebook!

* * *

(Draco's POV)

That notebook remained in the pocket under my robes. I dared not to touch it. I had only read about a page of that sick, perverted story before Flitwick came into the room. I probably could have read more if whoever wrote it didn't have dyslexia. Talk about grotesque penmanship, not to mention a pathetic perception of grammar.

I shrugged off my robe when I got into the Slytherin common room and tossed it onto one of the sofas. It missed, and fell into a large heap onto the floor. That notebook in the pocket protruded out.

"Augh!" Feeling a little exposed, I snatched the set and dashed off to my bedroom. It was only about seven o'clock, so I was highly doubtful anyone would be there. Even if there were, they would gladly leave on my very command.

I crawled into my four poster and took the book into my hands. Maybe... maybe there was something more that I was missing. It could have possibly been set up with the sole purpose of me finding it. Maybe... it was fate?

"Oh no, I can't," I told myself. "Well... maybe just a little look. Just to make sure I didn't miss anything that might be important."

With a deep breath, I keeled the notebook open to the first page, and fanned through them with my thumb. There wasn't much on the pages, mostly half-completed fruitless notes, with very rare bouts of pure intelligence. Well, I didn't steal this thing for nothing; perhaps I could copy the good stuff.

Then, the story started. I, Draco Malfoy, did not embarrass easily. But I couldn't seem to stop blushing. Then I became angry again. Whoever wrote this up has a sick and twisted mind, including a disturbing fascination (or even obsession) with me.

Even though the thought of it disgusted me, I decided to read on. I'll certainly admit though, whoever wrote this knew their way around the bases...

Oh my God! What if it was Professor Flitwick?

I laughed to myself. What was I thinking? That would be impossible. I've seen the way he writes on the board, and it was nothing like this. Besides, why would he have to take notes on his own lectures, let alone useless, incomprehensible notes?

The story in its entirety was about four pages in length. Most of it was smutty, useless fluff of many diluted sexual acts that I hope I will never perform in my life. Not because I was a prude or anything, but they were very strange, and even a little sadistic. Like the secret fantasies of some... sadomasochistic weirdo.

After I finished reading the story, I shuddered. Maybe I should take a bath to cleanse myself or something. There was the Prefects Only bathroom that I could use.

Oh crap. I forgot about my Prefect duties. Oh crap! I forgot about my Charms essay!

But I was tired, and didn't feel like worrying over trivial matters such as school. After shoving the notebook under my mattress, I set my head on the pillow, flicked the light off and tried to get some sleep.

My slumber was an unsettled one. I kept recreating those awful scenes in my dreams over and over again. I woke up once in the middle of the night, then fought desperately to fall asleep. Then my subconscious would fill with those same dirty images once again. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But most of all, I wanted a proper blow job... I mean... whoever wrote that thing is dead.

The next morning, when I awoke, I felt... different. Not only in my head but... was something... wet? Oh no, it couldn't be...

Very reluctantly, I lifted my blanket and peered down.

Oh my God. It was me. I did that. It was clearly of a dark, yellow tinge. Which also meant I needed to drink more water, and eat more fruits. But I digress.

Everyone was still sleeping, so in a whisper, I took out my wand, muttered a command, and the sheets were back to normal. The stigma wounded me still. Damn, I thought I was too old to still be having wet dreams. But that was not what was infuriating me. This person was intruding on my personal space. She was making me think these things. Was it Pansy? Did she do it?

The only way, I realized, to settle this matter once and for all was to find out who wrote this smut. Whoever did would probably want this notebook back. I certainly did not want to leave that sinful thing in my possession any longer.

To do so, I skipped the class immediately preceding Charms, which was Divination (no loss there). That was to ensure I would be the first person in the classroom. Once students began making their way to their final classes, I slipped into the Charms classroom, and placed the book back whence it came from and took my seat at the front. All there was left to do was to await the owner.

"Oh, _there _it is!" a whiny voice gushed as he swept the book off the table. "It was right here all along."

"I don't know why you were so worried," a shrill voice said. "It's so tattered and old. I'll get you a new one for Christmas."

"Yes, _that_ would make it a Happy Holiday indeed," the first said dryly. "Trust you to buy people school supplies for Christmas."

No way, it couldn't be Weasel and his Mudblood friend. In spite of myself, I turned around to confirm it. It was them all right. He clutched the notebook tightly to his chest, as she wagged her finger in disapproval.

That fag. I always knew there was something very wrong with him.

Weasley was dead.

* * *

Author's Note: I know it wasn't such an interesting chapter, but I was pressed for time. Besides, this chapter is kind of necessary. Also, to Linnyloo: I totally understand you about your mum! If mine found out that I was writing this stuff, she'd take away my computer and lock me in my room until Social Services came in to intervene. 


	3. A Big Mouth

Disclaimer: (Yawn) Sigh, I don't own Harry Potter. I doubt J.K. Rowling would sell to my bid of $14.58. I'm going in increments of a penny.

Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviewers, who have taken an interest in my little pet project. Hm... anyone else bummed that Oliver Wood graduated? No more chances to see Sean Biggerstaff (kind of a dirty last name if you think hard about it, heh heh).

* * *

**Malfoy and Me**  
A Big Mouth

(Ron's POV)

My first priority was to secure that adventurous notebook back into my book bag. It wasn't going to escape me anymore. Boy, I narrowly dodged an embarrassing episode, didn't I?

The one time I decided to write my essay on time, that was when the majority of the class decided not to. Professor Flitwick in his usual quiet demeanour expressed his disappointment, then proceeded to give us the remainder of the period to complete it. More or less, it was a free period.

While Hermione was getting a head start on the lesson after tomorrow's (mind you, she spent yesterday studying for today, so now she was two classes ahead), I used my leisure time to wonder...

Do other people do what I did? Did they think the same filthy things, or have the same dirty minds? Did they experiment with the same sex? Surely I must not be the only one. I recalled Fred or George telling me about this when I was younger, but I thought they were joking. Maybe it was just the Weasley genes.

Harry wasn't doing anything of particular interest, so I decided to ask him. Quite casually though, I didn't want to leave too much out in the open.

"So," I turned to him and interrupted his lone pencil racing game and blurted, "How's the stool, you tiny fool?"

Whoops. That wasn't quite as subtle as I had hoped to be.

Luckily, Harry took my comment literally. He glanced down at his seat and shrugged. "And it's not my fault I look small in front of you. You're just unnaturally tall."

I grinned. Since he had such an innocent, uncorrupted mind, I might as well set the seeds of perversion. He'd either thank me or beat the hell out of me for it later. "I bet if you grew an extra quarter inch, you'd be totally set."

Harry gave a totally confused, naive look in my direction. "What is an extra quarter inch going to do?"

"It'll make your preference of gender--"

"Ahem!" Hermione, who had the wonderfully frightful talent of understanding _everything_, interrupted. "Ron, I think that's enough." She grimaced knowingly.

"How the heck do you understand what I'm talking about when Harry doesn't?" I demanded. Did she just know every little particle of information?

"I come from the Muggle world, remember? Over there, they're a lot more blatant and open about this kind of thing."

"Yeah, well so are Fred and George."

"What are you two talking about?" Harry piped up.

"Nothing!" Hermione and I yelped in unison.

Was Hermione really the quiet, unassuming angel of a student we all knew her as? Or did have something raw inside her that none of us knew about? "You know something, Hermione, you're something special," I informed her with a suggestive (but purely innocent) wink.

"Yeah?" she snapped, taking my comment as an insult. "And you're something utterly foul."

Ouch.

Even her burns were boring.

Harry had his back arched so his face was down, looking around at his feet. "Why did you ask me about my stool? Did you _do_ something to it?"

Don't give me fodder, Potter. Please, don't.

Hermione let out an uncharacteristic giggle. "I just noticed something about Harry's stool. It has four legs."

With that comment, I burst into uncontrollable laughter. Not only because it was funny, but because of all people to say that, it was Hermione.

"_What are you two talking about_?" Harry roared, practically flipping over his stool. You know, the deviated (or advantaged, if you will) one that the school provided. "Is it some sort of inside joke that I don't know about, because it better be!"

"It's nothing, we're sorry Harry," apologized Hermione sincerely.

"Yeah," I tempted. "Sorry that you're--"

"Ron, I swear," Hermione warned forebodingly. She enunciated each word slowly so there would not be any misunderstanding. "If you say anything, I will kick you so hard down there that you'll never have kids."

Harry didn't seem to be interested in our prattle anymore. He yawned and glanced at the clock. "Still about half an hour until class is over. This is so boring."

When Harry yawned, I couldn't suppress my own. I had stayed up late last night to finish my Charms essay, and my lack of sleep took a toll on my stamina. I wanted nothing more than to go to bed and sleep a dreamless, undisturbed sleep. "Yeah. I think I'm going to take a nap." I rested my head on the hard stone desk and allowed my heavy eyelids to droop.

_"...Oh my God, you have _two_!" Malfoy grinned hungrily. His hand stroked the insides of my thigh so softly that I giggled._

_"That's right, baby," I confirmed for him. "To increase the pleasure."_

_With his trademark smirk, he bent down and enclosed both my cocks in the warm caverns of his mouth. He began to suck, lightly then firmly, in this continuous pattern. I let out a moan of pleasure..._

"Ron... Ron!" Someone was shaking my shoulder.

I moaned eagerly.

"Ron, wake up! Class is over!"

"Whah?" I pulled my head up and rubbed my eyes.

Harry and Hermione both stared down at me, with identical smiles on their faces. "What were you dreaming about?" Harry asked.

I sent him a suspicious glance. "Why?"

"You looked awfully happy during your nap." They were both still grinning. It annoyed me to no end. Not only because their both were making malicious faces at me, but because they disrupted my wonderful dre-... a good energy-boosting rest.

"I like to sleep," I told them simply.

My explanation seemed to please both of them, and they dropped the subject while walking to The Great Hall for dinner. But I couldn't help contemplating it further. I wrote the story down on paper. I used my imaginative capacity to its fullest, yet I still continue to dream? It didn't fit into the regular routine of losing interest after entertaining the idea with a little writing. How could that be?

Maybe my dreams were true. Maybe I did like Malfoy after all.

* * *

(Draco's POV)

Seriously, Weasel was going to get everything coming to him. I was going to guarantee it. He was descending up the entrance to the dining room, and I wanted to confront him right there and then.

"Weasley!" I pounced in front of him.

I saw Potter and Granger roll their eyes. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter deadpanned.

My eyes never left Weasley. He was blushing slightly. "You little..." I began through gritted teeth. "I read what you wrote."

Weasley gasped in surprise. "Uh--"

"Well?"

He hesitated, then gestured for his friends to leave him alone.

"Are you sure?" Potter asked. He didn't care more about his friend than he did about looking like a hero, if you ask me.

He nodded densely. With a shrug, Potter and Granger disappeared to my relief. The less people who knew about this, the better.

I waited until the stream of students had dissipated before I finally put him under scrutiny. I forced him onto a wall for intimidation purposes, my wand on his throat and asked, "Why did you do it? Why the _hell_ would you _do that_?"

Weasley swallowed audibly, his whole body shaking in fear.

I actually had not rehearsed this encounter, so I allowed whatever that came into mind escape out. "You're pathetic enough that you have to write this stuff? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you are! You're just that much of a loser, aren't you?"

His eyes glazed with frightened tears, but he still remained silent.

"_Answer me_!"

"I... I don't know... I didn't mean to... I'm sorry..." he choked out in a whisper.

"Oh yeah?" I sneered. "Not as sorry as you're going to be." I pressed the wand in my hand deeper into his neck until he struggled for breath.

"I said I was sorry," he croaked out hoarsely. "Please, don't..."

But Weasley deserved it. He really did deserve it. "_Densaugeo_!"

On cue, my victim's teeth began to grow largely out of proportion. I hopped out of the way to observe my handiwork. Weasely slapped his hands over his mouth, but other than that, he stayed immobile.

I cursed at him. My spell didn't seem to be much of a punishment. "Why don't you just run away?" I demanded.

"Because I did something stupid, and I want to apologize," Weasley insisted, his voice muffled through his closed hands. Was it me, or did he really seem sincere in making amends

"I don't want an apology from you, I want revenge," I told him, my face hot with rage. "You little _faggot_."

He unexpectantly burst into tears, and clumsily dashed off down the hall. His loud sobs and gawky, quick-paced footing echoed through the empty corridors. I hated Weasley. His stupid red hair, his stupid family, I hated everything about him.

But maybe at that moment, I hated myself more.

* * *

Author's Note: Ugh, I feel so dirty about that scene with the blow job. Yes, very short, but I don't write smut. That was the first time I wrote anything close to smut. I've only got one or two chapters left coming. Yes, so I'd be thankful if you'd review. 


	4. Perfect Timing

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I've tell you if I do.

Author's Note: I don't really know what the heck I'm doing. Just so you know. I've struggled with this chapter a lot. But... I tried!

* * *

**Malfoy and Me**  
Perfect Timing

(Ron's POV)

Unable to control my stream of tears, I headed over to the hospital wing to have my teeth resized back to normal. Naturally, Madame Pomfrey asked me a few questions. My swollen eyes told her more than I would have wanted. There wasn't much I could say in my position, except casually blame my own negligence and irresponsible spell incantations. I doubt she believed that story, but thankfully, she understood the student mentality and did not press on any further.

I passed over my supper and returned back to the Gryffindor common room with the hopes of finding somewhere to be alone and brood. But finding a quiet place in Hogwarts was like finding a needle in a haystack, if I may revive an old classic. Why couldn't the farmer just get a new needle? Wait, it wasn't really about that at all...?

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione leapt up from the sofas they were sitting on. "What happened? Are you okay?" They were both instantly at my side, prodding me to respond.

"I'm fine," I told them, which was less than a lie than I first thought. The fact that they were so deeply concerned made me feel a little better. "Malfoy just told me off, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

Hermione scrunched up her nose with sceptical doubt. "Are you sure that was all?"

I nodded. "Yah."

"We don't believe you," Harry snapped, crossing his arms in front of him. "You look like you've been crying."

"Harry!" hissed Hermione with an elbow jerk that found its way into Harry's ribs. "Don't be so insensitive!" She turned to me. "Whenever you want to talk, we'll be here to listen."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

An awkward silence hung thick in the air. Then Hermione giggled. "I have a joke that might lighten the mood here. Knock knock."

"Oh my God," Harry said with no enthusiasm.

As the obvious gentleman that I was, I decided to humour her just a little bit. "Who's there?"

"Who."

"Who who?"

"What are you, an owl?" Hermione burst into hysterical laughter at her own punch line, collapsing onto a nearby sofa for support. Harry and I barely broke a smile. And they say that girls mature faster than boys... well, that was a rare lapse in her usual studious demeanour, even I could admit that.

"Come on, it was funny!" insisted Hermione when her laughter had finally ceased.

"Yeah, it was funny the first fifty times I heard it," Harry pointed out. "That joke has got to be the most over-used in all of Hogwarts."

"I was just trying to make you feel better," she said to me, sounding a little hurt. She turned to Harry. "How about you? Why don't you try something better?"

He stroked his chin for a moment in thought. "Okay. What about this one? What's the difference between the Slytherin beaters and the Slytherin keeper?"

"No idea," Hermione said.

"The beaters go _whack_, 'Damn', and the keeper goes 'Damn', _whack_. Get it?"

I giggled, but Hermione scowled. "That was in no way better than mine."

"What are you talking about? Mine was way better. It was funnier, more original, and had more substance. Besides," Harry continued. "You probably didn't understand it because you're not a big Quidditch fan like Ron and I are. Sadly, you're Quidditchtorily-challenged."

She sent Harry a very good impression of a Snape-like glare while I chuckled. "Ha ha, very funny. You're lucky I don't kick your stool."

I feigned shock. "Now Hermione, that _really _is hitting below the belt there..."

"We're back to the bloody stool!" Harry screamed before embarking on a mild rampage. "What the hell are you two talking about? What did you two do to my seat? Whatever you did to it, I'm sure Flitwick will find out once he runs his wand through it!"

"Oh dear God!" I dissolved into giggles and collapsed on the couch beside Hermione, who had conveniently rolled off while howling in laughter. I had to seriously wonder whether Harry knew what we were talking about all along, and was saying these things in order to crack us up, because it was an unnatural coincidence. You couldn't make this stuff up.

"What the hell are you two laughing at?" Harry waved his arms in the air frantically.

Suddenly, I stopped. "Oh no, mental images!" Then I proceeded to burst into another fit of laughter again. You don't want to see the things I was concocting in my mind at the moment. It would send a person twice my size into a state of frenzied mental panic.

After Harry had kicked a table over in blind rage, we decided to give it a rest and head for our sleeping quarters. Though probably not meant to, it did perk up my mood a little bit. Not that I should have been miserable in the first place.

I didn't exactly expect Malfoy to like that crap I wrote. I should have considered myself lucky that I didn't sustain any lasting injuries during that second altercation. But the fact that he had even read my notebook at all was a little alarming. How did he gain possession of it? Worst of all...

Was he really plotting revenge?

* * *

(Draco's POV)

"Why aren't you eating, Draco?"

I blinked and turned in the direction of the voice. Pansy was staring at me expectantly. I wished she wouldn't. It always creeped me out when she looked at me, because I knew she liked me. I, however, had better tastes.

"None of your business," I snapped at her with agitation, and abruptly stood up to leave the table. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room boring holes into the back of my head as I stomped out of The Great Hall.

Great. Now everyone probably thought I had PMS or something.

There was nothing left to do but to go back to the Slytherin House, which was just as well because I wasn't the slightest bit hungry. That really could not be the consequence of the Weasley incident, was it? That was impossible. I didn't feel guilt over trivial things like him.

If it wasn't guilt that had taken me out of my comfort zone, then it was definitely anger then, and the lust for revenge. What he did to me was a lot worse than what I did to him. In many ways, I was very unsatisfied with my spell. But it was the only one that surfaced in my consciousness at such short notice.

Even in spite of myself, I couldn't help feel a little... flattered. Yes, the contents of Weasley's notebook were quite offensive, but it was the first time a person of my same gender expressed any adoration towards me. I was even starting to consider myself bisexually open, which I had never been before. So in that sense, I was very conflicted.

Above all, I wanted some sort of vindictive vengeance. He couldn't just write filth like that and expect to get away with it.

We were astonishing free of homework that night, so I took the opportunity to go to bed early and catch up on some much needed sleep. That seemed to be the ideal plan, because it would avoid any confrontation with my roommates about my behaviour during dinner, at least for the time being.

I was out not a moment too late. Dreams? Of course I had those that night, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to hypothesize what exactly they consisted of. It was in my sleep where I realized the perfect justice.

The next day, everything seemed ordinary. Harry and Hermione kept shooting me nasty glances, but that was nothing new. But the frequency of it was more than normal. I wondered what Weasley had told them. Surely he left the one large, foul component out for his own personal security.

While on the topic of Weasley, I couldn't help notice the change in his mannerisms... not that I was looking or anything. He was more silent and hunched over than normal. Good.

I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to put my plan into action. The trip to Hogsmeade was scheduled after school, and for the first time I had seen it, Weasley was not going. He waved goodbye to his friends and slipped back into the building... alone. I had initially planned to go to Hogsmeade, but this was a chance too perfect to pass up.

Coaxing the Gryffindor password with brute force out of a naive first-year was a simple task. I slipped seamlessly through their common room and knocked on every door until I found him.

He opened the door cautiously. When he saw that it was me, his jaw practically hit the floor.

I had a feral grin on my face. "I've come for my revenge."

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Author's Note: Oh gosh, I have no idea how awful that chapter was. I had no idea what to write for this chapter. I'm sorry if you hated it, because... I was just having an enormous amount of trouble with this particular chapter. I might re-write it later.

Anyway, I apologize for the length of time it took to update. But I finally did. So yay! I know it wasn't funny or anything, but I couldn't really think of a way to extract humour out of a chapter like this except for those extremely stupid jokes in Ron's POV. Well, the next (and final) chapter is... Malfoy's Revenge (yes, that's the title). Mu ha ha ha...


	5. Malfoy's Revenge

Disclaimer: For a split second, J.K. Rowling handed me the rights to Harry Potter, then snatched it back just when my fingertips grazed the contract. She then proceeded to taunt me playfully. It stung. Then I woke up. See, I can't even gain those rights in my dreams...

Author's Note: Very last chapter of this fic. Expect some fan service, random smut, heh heh... oh, and one thing; in Ron's POV, I'm backtracking to a moment before Draco comes along.

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**Malfoy and Me**  
Malfoy's Revenge

(Ron's POV)

There was a specific reason why I decided not to go to Hogsmeade that particular day. While everyone was out and about, I had to destroy any evidence of that foul story's existence. The easiest way to dispose of it was incineration by fire. The whole notebook would have to go.

I rummaged through my bag and located it, grimacing. _I toss it into the fire. It burns and becomes nothing but ash. I forget about it and pretend nothing ever happened_. At least, that was the plan.

I was just about to exit my room to carry on the task when I heard a loud knock at the door. My hand was practically on the knob, so I jumped up, startled. It couldn't be Harry or Hermione; they'd left for Hogsmeade already. That went for every sibling I had who attended this school. So who would be searching for me?

Very cautiously, I twisted the doorknob and pulled it slowly open, only enough to see whom it was.

Draco Malfoy.

"I've come for my revenge," he said.

Oh my God. Oh my God! I was trapped and totally alone. In my blind instinct, I shot in a wild direction and hoped he would simply leave me alone. It was futile; there was no escape.

He approached me, too casually for my comfort. I drew myself into a fetal position by the corner and began praying to a higher power. Oh Holy Dumbledore...

"Get up Weasley," Malfoy instructed me.

"No," I whimpered, shielding my face from any attack.

He grabbed me by the collar and seated me on my bed. Then, to my surprise, he stood back and scrutinized me. I sat upright, frozen in terror.

"What do you want?" I asked him finally with every hint of hesitation.

Malfoy ceased the tapping of his finger on his chin to answer. "I told you, revenge." His eyes danced over to the notebook, which I had thrown onto the bed in haste when I heard the knocking at the door. He chuckled, almost to himself. "What were you doing just now? Masturbating?"

My face contorted in disgust. "Ew. No."

"Sure." His annoyingly smug grin remained on his face. Yes, annoying, but a little hot, even I'd admit. I swallowed the trepidation that lodged itself in my throat.

"Anyway," he continued. "I know what you want, and I'm here to give it to you."

I blanched. "W-what?"

"You heard me." Malfoy slipped off his robe and began to unbuckle his belt.

For a moment I watched this without realizing I was. "Wait a minute, what do you mean, 'you know what I want'?"

"Oh Weasley, don't get shy now," he whipped the belt right out of the loops on his trousers and flung it unperturbedly at the adjacent wall. "You want a bang. What's more important is that you want a bang with me. I'm right, aren't I?"

"No," I said, only half-truthfully.

"Oh please," he stopped making a show of undressing himself (much to my chagrin) to pick up the notebook and balance it on the palm of his hand. "All the ladies want to fuck me, obviously. And by the looks of this," he gestured at the book. "You want to as well. You're not a lady. Well, not exactly, anyway. But who knows? That could be even better."

A prickling doubt formed at the back of my neck. Malfoy couldn't be for real. This was a joke, wasn't it? That would be so like him.

"Whatever. You can stay here, take off your clothing and play with yourself. I don't really care." I snatched the book out of his hands and proceeded out the door to do what I had initially decided for the fate of that particular item.

I had barely opened a crack large enough to slip through when Malfoy jumped up and pinned me against the door, shutting it in the process. "You're not going anywhere, Ron."

I didn't know why the sound of Malfoy saying my first name gave me a strange feeling around my torso, but it did. With every ounce of strength and self-respect that remained, I tried to blink it all away.

"See? I know you want me," Malfoy whispered, leaning closer to me.

I blinked furiously.

The whole incident seemed to happen so quickly. With his hands firmly gripping my arms to prevent mobility, Malfoy began groping hungrily at my lips with his own. At first, I resisted. What would Harry and Hermione think of this if they knew?

But there was no sense of fighting. Malfoy was stronger than me. Not only that, but he had me captured and completely vulnerable to him. Worst of all...

I wanted this so bad.

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(Draco's POV)

Wow, this was definitely something I had never experienced before. Me, snogging a bloke. I would admit though, it wasn't half bad. And if Weasley's moaning was any indication, he was thoroughly enjoying this as well. But I couldn't allow myself to lose sight of my mission, and that was of vengeance.

We finally drew apart, panting and gasping for breath. His green eyes stared deep into mine, round with anxious excitement. I inadvertently allowed a flinch to escape my body.

My proposition was to arouse him to a certain point, then step back, wait for him to beg, and deny him of what he so lusted and desired for at the moment. Let him suffer; let him feel the burning humiliation of rejection. There was no sweeter retribution.

I stood there for a split second, praising my brilliant plan to myself long enough to not notice my pants sliding down to my ankles. Caught off-guard, I stumbled back and hit my head on his bedpost. For a moment, I lost my senses. When I came to, there was a wonderful sensation between my legs.

Weasley was crouched down on the floor, his mouth enclosed over my cock. He was performing rather advanced movements with his tongue on the most sensitive part of my body. I needed him to stop. I wasn't allowed this to pleasure me. But, dear God, it did.

So he had won. I had lost. This time, however, I didn't mind. How could defeat feel so good? Certainly conquered figures of power never negotiated quite like this.

He was being selfish. Typical Weasley, trying to be the one to administer the favour so you would be in his debt later. Well, I wasn't going to allow that. When he had finished delivering a very adequate blowjob, I forced him onto bed and tore off his trousers. It came naturally to both of us. Before I knew it, our hips were conjoined and we began rocking harder than the Weird Sisters.

At last, we broke apart in exhaustion. Beads of working sweat irritated my brow, but I made no attempt to wipe them. He rested beside me, breathing heavily.

"Wow, that was something," Weasley said after he had caught most of his breath back.

"Talk about stating the obvious, Weasley," I grumbled, my arms crossed standoffishly. I wasn't going to allow him to penetrate me... er, again.

He turned quite daringly to face me. "What are you so cranky about? Usually people are happy after getting laid, including the evil kind."

Was that supposed to be an insult? Was I supposed to be offended by being labeled 'evil'? It didn't sound it, but this was the half-wit Ron Weasley talking. His ambiguous (and hideously written) language always meant something vulgar. But at that moment, I felt the need to be courteous, as to feign an attack of dignity to please him. "Shut up. You started it, with your stupid, sick little story. This is all your fault, you know."

"My fault?" Weasley's lips curled up into a devilish grin that sent an uneasy chill up and down my spine. "Don't you mean my credit? You should be thanking me. And you deserve some of the tribute as well; you were the one who came on to me."

His false sense of confidence was irritating. "As if," was all I could counter with.

Then I remembered the kiss. It was, without a doubt, the best snog I had ever had in my short existence. I contemplated telling him the real reason why presented it onto him, but somehow I didn't have the heart to. That, and I had my own reasons, mainly to safeguard the opportunity for some more action. To be frank, I'd probably do Crabbe or Goyle if they were willing to put out, though I somehow doubted they would be any good. At least with Weasley, I would be able to keep my integrity in tact. Sort of.

All the things my parents had taught me about the Weasleys throughout my life came rushing back into focus. I was always told never to associate myself with them. They were the absolute opposite of our household; poor and filthy, not worthy of our time.

But this Weasley, shamefully, I wanted for myself. More now than ever, as long as that little service he had just performed wasn't purely a one-time fluke.

We just laid on his bed, sprawled out, our heads still ringing from the initial shock and the hardest bang known to wizard-kind. The long silence was finally broken when Weasley retrieved his trousers, tugged them back on and went for the door.

"Where are you going?" I called after him. The fact that I had done so surprised us both. But I didn't want him to leave me.

"I just need some water, after, you know, that," he assured me. He paused and let his hand rest on the knob. "You want me to get you some?"

"Nah," was my instinctive response.

But I considered his offer a little further.

"Could you get me some fruit?"

**The End**

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Author's Note: I didn't really write smut, exactly... I just wanted to give you the general idea without having to be too graphic (even though it was too graphic for my taste either way). I hope that was okay. If you are a fan of smut, then... I apologize for not having enough courage (nervous giggle). Hopefully the ending wasn't too out of character or abrupt (I always have problems with endings). I know it was predictable, but we all want a happy ending, don't we?

I've already begun writing out a sequel to this fic (if this story merits a sequel), where Ron and Draco dash around, enjoying a discreet relationship (of course, things don't go exactly to plan). I'm not sure whether I'll post it up, because, well... it's not that good. As for now, I wouldn't mind some reviews, if you would be so kind.


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